Harper's Journal
I can hold a pencil. It sounds so ridiculous, being so proud of an accomplishment like this but I CAN HOLD A PENCIL. I feel ridiculous. Life is mocking me, giving me such tiny obstacles for me to overcome when everyone else can hold a pencil just fine. Normal people are so young when they are able to hold a pencil that they can't even comprehend the glee of the accomplishment. Then again, normal people haven't died. Normal people aren't ghosts. But ghosts can't hold pencils so what does that make me? The spirits of this town are no longer as solid to me as they were when I first came here seeking refuge from those who believed evil came in the form of ghosts. At times I accidentally run my hand straight through them. I have to avoid doing that now, it's considered very impolite. It's like invading someone's personal space but more... personal. Sometimes, I am unable to even reach out to give them a comforting hug or pat on the back because of this. And while they have slowly faded, I think... I think I am becoming more solid. It's been so many years here, too many to count, and just now am I able to hold a pencil. I would not be able to do that if I wasn't at least somewhat solid. I am writing for the first time in many, many years. Is it possible that I am becoming more human? Am I slowly losing my grip on the spirit world because of this? I just checked my pulse. I CAN FEEL MY HEART BEATING. It's so unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. Does that mean I am alive, if only slightly? I don't know if it's possible but I am gaining my life back. I might get the chance to live the life that I never got in my short time before death. I don't think I'm alive yet but... I don't think I'm dead either. *-*-*-*-* I don't belong anywhere. My neighborly spirits have started to notice that my heart is beating- it's almost painfully slow but it's beating and I'm not quite dead. They don't seem to mind but they don't treat me like they used to anymore. Today I was playing a game of tag with some of the other spirits and instead of drifting through a wall, I bumped right into it. I was able to feel pain, not mental pain but real physical pain, until I returned to my immaterial state. I had almost forgotten about pain. I'm not allowed to play ghost tag anymore, I'm afraid that the idea of me becoming human has scared off some of my friends. They started their game without me and I was left to find something else to do. I was staring out a window when I noticed... I could go to a town now. That was a bad idea. I wish I hadn't gone or someone would have talked me out of it, but I think they wanted to see if I would blend in as much as I did. When I first got to the town, I thought it was fine. The last time I was in human society there had been a party at a large house and it had been rather exciting beside the fact that all I could do was watch. That had been the 20's, I believe. Now the streets were empty and the stars shown brightly as ever above. I heard a child complain that he didn't want to go to bed and I went over to watch an exchange between a mother and her son. The young boy was practically in tears and waving his wooden toy around as if that would prevent his bedtime. Feeling bad for the poor mother, I stepped forward and informed the young boy that sleep was very important and that he should listen to his mother. The boy stared at me and his mother looked over in surprise. Her mouth opened and for a second I thought she might thank me for trying to help but instead she screamed. GHOST, she screamed over and over. DEMON. WITCHCRAFT. The woman ushered her child inside, the toy car forgotten on the sidewalk, leaving me standing there. Alone. I looked at my hand and I could see right through it. I was not invisible as the other spirits were, I could quite clearly see my form and the pale color of skin, but I was still... ghost-like. Able to be seen through and still have a form. I left the toy on her doorstep. Why do those words she yelled have such an impact? Ghosts aren't something to be feared, they are just like her but dead. But demon? A product of witchcraft? I am neither... At least I don't think so. But I am frightened that I might be. There is no one else like me... If it wasn't witchcraft that caused me to start to breathe, what was it? I don't want to be a product of witchcraft. I feel a small sting behind my eyes. I think I might cry. It's been so long since I last cried... and it's been so long since I've felt pain. I've felt so many returned emotions today then what I am used to and none of them are good. I don't think I want to be human. They have to deal with pain and tears and things that I don't want to feel. I want to stay as I was before. I don't want to breathe and I don't want my heart to beat. Being a spirit was so much simpler. Why is this happening to me? *-*-*-*-* I ran away. Almost everywhere I went there would be a spirit watching me, always turning away as if they could fool me into thinking they hadn't been watching, or whispering about how my heart was still beating. YES, THERE IS BLOOD RUNNING THROUGH MY SYSTEM NOW AND WHAT A SCANDAL THAT IS. LITTLE HARPER IS BREATHING AND OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG WITH HER. HOW UNNATURAL. My favorite one, said right to my face, was 'Did you meet up with Doctor Frankenstein?' How close to the truth. Because I believe that those doctors that took me off the streets are part of the reason I am like this. Whatever they injected me with, the thing that caused my death, must be bringing me back to life. So sure, say I was brought back to life Doctor Frankenstein. I calmly informed the rude spirit that I had and if they wanted, I could introduce the two of them. They didn't bother me again. After that, it only took me a couple weeks to get up the nerve and leave. It's been lonely ever since. But I've discovered it to be much more peaceful and quiet. On my own, I'm not the weird one. Because with only me here, logically everyone else is like me. The problem is there is no everyone else. There was nowhere to go but somewhere where no one else was. I've been wandering this forest for a couple years now, maybe more. My little leather bound notebook and pencil has amazingly been in my pocket the whole time, despite the fact it is a totally human and unghostlike object. I've taken to drawing small bits of scenery I see. The autumn leaves covering the ground. A small hidden pond. The deer that seems to raise a family around here. My thin reflection in a puddle. An icy lake. My favorite drawing is one of a flower growing on a moss-covered tree trunk. They aren't very good drawings but I have plenty of time. I'll get better. I've also made friends with some of the animals. It's odd how my spirit seems to comfort them. Back where I used to stay, animals would avoid the house because of all the dead spirits. But I seem to be the perfect balance between spirit-like and alive that seems to attract a bunch of woodland creatures. There have been times where I have felt pain when stepping on a sharp rock or something similar, or those moments that cause tears when I remember how utterly alone I am, but weighing out the pros and cons, I like the fact that I am half-alive. It would be much worse here if I was dead. I have decided I like drawing. And writing too. It keeps me company in the middle of nowhere when all the animals have tucked into their little dens or burrows. But I don't think I can stay here forever. Animals frankly are not the brightest, I can't to anything but watch and maybe become trusted enough to see their families. It's lonely and as much as being alone comforts me sometimes, I need to be able to communicate to something besides my journal. Something that can communicate back. I've never been more lonely. So I'm going to keep traveling through the forest. Maybe someday soon I'll reach some sort of life. Or death. *-*-*-*-* I made it. I'm currently sitting at the edge of the woods. There is a town up ahead. It was the first thing I noticed when I approached the end. In fact, part of the forest is bordering a couple people's backyards. The idea of people seems so exciting to me after years of loneliness. It's odd because just a while back I was running away to get away from people. Which brings me to my problem. I can't head in there. What if someone ends up screaming like that one mother did? What if they sneer and curse at me? I'm still different- the odd one out- no matter where I go, that probably won't ever change. There is a small gnawing at the bottom of my stomach. It's been there a while now and I'm getting weaker the longer I go without food. The feeling does not bring back good memories. I'm going to need to head into town eventually... just... not now. *-*-*-*-* I'm dying of hunger. I never thought it'd be possible because I'm ALREADY DEAD but there is no other possible explanation. I am weak and can barely hold my pencil. I am fading away faster than I ever come into existence. I know I don't want to be human and I'm kind of glad that I am turning back into a spirit but I don't think I can be a spirit any longer. I am fading from this world all together. I think I'm okay with it. I lived a longer life than I originally would have, and although it was a hard life, I got to see more than most. Now, I just want the pain to end. I might as well say my goodbyes before I fade away forever. Farewell to the deer and creatures of the forest, for you were the only ones who never judged me. Farewell to those kinder spirits back at the house. I never got the chance to tell them goodbye so I'm taking my chance now. Farewell to those who stared and gossiped, you are the few I won't miss. Farewell to the few friends I had when I was alive. I never got the chance to tell them either. But then again, how do you tell them when you have died. Death comes so suddenly. I'm crying now. It is the last time I will ever cry. As I say goodbye I realize how many people I have known and I don't- I don't want to say goodbye to them. But I must. So one last goodbye... Because I think I have finally forgiven them. No use in holding grudges now... Farewell to m y f *-*-*-*-* I'm alive. I can't believe I'm still alive and writing. I was so close to leaving this world. I almost did. It's hard to have been alive so long and not believe in miracles. Everyone gets another chance every so often or something unexplainable. Some people even get more than one. I've had so many miracles that it seemed almost impossible I might get another one. My first miracle was dying and yet still lingering. My second miracle was being able to witness the world change around me. The third was fading back into reality. And I just received another miracle, and his name is Declan. Declan is a nine year old boy that lives in one of the houses around here. I was on death's final edge when he found me. I thought he would scream like the first woman who saw me would but instead he seemed perfectly calm. The smart child had quickly realized I needed help and instead of running away, he figured out what I needed and provided me with food. He's been coming every weekend so far, each day with a new snack for us to share. Another thing to add to my list about the pros of being alive: food is really delicious. We've talked a little which is how I know his name. He's asked me all sorts of questions and so far I have failed to find a way to get him to shut up. But Declan is admittedly endearing and great company. He's the friend I always wished I could talk to while on my own and feeling lonely. However, I haven't told him much about me. I told him he can learn when he is older then he pointed out he is already older than me. I laughed but didn't respond. I don't think a nine year old boy needs to know exactly what is wrong with this world yet. I don't think he will stick around long enough for me to explain anyway. I hope he does though because he is the only one around anymore that I consider a friend. *-*-*-*-* November, 1959 I found out the date from a newspaper Declan gave me. He seems so confused when I get excited over such small things like what day it is but in a way, he seems to understand as well. He still comes to talk with me every week. I look forward to every day he might visit. I also no longer live at the edge of the woods, Declan introduced me to a treehouse his father built for him. It's much better there where my pages won't get waterlogged and I won't feel rain dripping onto my physical being. Declan no longer brings food every week however, it appears I have a low tolerance of it and only need little to sustain me. Declan is twelve now and has sadly grown taller than me, a fact he never fails to mention. He hasn't questioned why I still appear to be eight, I've never mentioned my otherworldly presence before but he seemed to catch on without mention. It's been almost three years since he saved me from a permanent death and according to him, his parents are starting to worry about his 'imaginary friend'. Declan assures me that he informed them that I really was real but I know the truth. They'll never believe him. He tried asking me to join him for dinner sometime just to prove I really exist but I don't think I will... I can't have another person screaming at the sight of me, I find all grown ups are the same in that way. Instead I told him not to tell them about me anymore... It took some convincing but he agreed. It's best his parents don't worry about him any more than they need to. He tells me that I'm his best friend. I've never been someone's best friend before, much less had one of my own. It's a good feeling to have. Category:OC Journals